


Little Lion Man

by sunsetmog



Series: Even If Nobody Else Sings Along [4]
Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Community: schmoop_bingo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-08
Updated: 2010-07-08
Packaged: 2017-10-31 02:28:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/338885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetmog/pseuds/sunsetmog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Here," Aaron says, when Jackson comes over to where Aaron's sitting on the wall outside the bar, waiting for him. "I saved you half my Twix."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Lion Man

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://sunsetmog-fics.livejournal.com/52666.html) in July 2010.
> 
> Written for the schmoop_bingo prompt "candlelight sex"

"Here," Aaron says, when Jackson comes over to where Aaron's sitting on the wall outside the bar, waiting for him. "I saved you half my Twix."

Jackson holds his hand out. "Know how to treat a bloke well, I see," he says, sitting down on the wall by Aaron's side. He elbows Aaron in greeting, an unobtrusive way of saying _hello_. Aaron hands him the chocolate. It's warm and a little melted, still in its wrapper. "Thanks."

"Wine 'em, dine 'em, save 'em half a Twix," Aaron says, kicking his heel against the wall. He doesn't meet Jackson's eyes. 

"Recipe for success," Jackson agrees. He watches Aaron out of the corner of his eye; Aaron is blushing a little, somewhere under his best don't-care face. Jackson bites his lip to hide his smile. 

"You going to eat it then, or what? "Aaron asks. "Cos I'll have it back."

"Give me a minute," Jackson tells him. He bumps his knee against Aaron's, and carefully doesn't acknowledge it when Aaron moves in a little closer afterwards, leaving his knee touching Jackson's. "I'm savouring it."

"It's only a bloody Twix," Aaron says. His cheeks are pink. "It's not that great or anything. It's not even a whole one."

Jackson doesn't bother to hide his grin this time. He finishes the Twix off in a couple of bites, and leans in so that he can wipe his fingers on Aaron's shirt. Aaron snorts in annoyance, trying to dodge Jackson's fingers. Jackson takes advantage of Aaron's distraction to lean over and kiss Aaron's cheek.

Aaron goes red, and stills. To his credit, he doesn't look around to see who might have seen them, although it is getting dark out and it isn't like there's many people around anyway. "What was that for?" he asks, and Jackson rolls his eyes. 

"Because you're my boyfriend, you idiot," Jackson says. "And I haven't seen you in a couple of days and you gave me half your chocolate bar. That alright with you?"

The moment stretches on a fraction too long, and it's just long enough for Jackson to start to worry that he's said too much too soon. Aaron's come a long way in a few short months, and whilst it's not like Jackson is planning on spending the rest of his life moderating his behaviour for the sake of Aaron's sensibilities, he is at least willing to make it as easy as he can for Aaron to come to terms with who he is, in the short term at least. 

Aaron's face is expressionless for a moment, before he relaxes a little, his shoulders dropping. "Yeah," he says, "it's okay. It's, uh. Good."

Jackson lets out a breath. "Great chocolate," he says, finally. "Top choice, a Twix."

Aaron rolls his eyes. "Stop going on about it," he says. "You'd think no one had ever bought you one before." 

"Maybe they haven't," Jackson says, solemnly. "Maybe you're the first." He tries to keep a straight face, whilst Aaron figures out whether he's teasing or not, but he can't. 

"I don't know why I like you," Aaron says finally, punching Jackson in the arm. "You're such a dick."

"Says you," Jackson says. He grins, and Aaron rolls his eyes, nodding at the door to the bar. 

"Are we going in or what?"

Jackson laughs. "Thought you'd never ask."

The bar is relatively empty, even for early in the evening. Jackson gives the room a cursory once-over to see if there's anyone around that he knows. He thinks he sees his mate Pete over at the other end of the bar, but he's talking to someone that Jackson doesn't recognise, so he doesn't go over. 

"What d'you want?" Jackson asks Aaron as they reach the bar. He nods at the barman, leaning over to see what beers they have on tap. 

"I'll get them," Aaron says, fumbling in his pocket for his wallet.

"You get the next one," Jackson tells him. He elbows Aaron in the side. "I'll be hungry then, you'll have to get crisps too."

Aaron rolls his eyes. "I see your game," he says, but he stops reaching for his wallet, and rests on his elbows to lean over the bar instead. "Carlsberg," he says, after a minute scrunching his nose up in indecision.

Jackson hides his grin. He taps his wallet on the bar whilst he's waiting for the barman to finish dealing with the guy next to them, and move on to him. There's a TV screen on the wall behind the bar, and he nudges Aaron in the shoulder when the music video ends and _Wonderwall_ comes on. "Great song," he says. 

Aaron looks at Jackson like he's stupid. "You need your ears testing, mate."

"Come on," Jackson says. "It's Oasis, you can't go wrong with Oasis."

"You can," Aaron tells him. He nods at the TV screen. "Paddy's always going on about them. You and him can get together and talk about how crap your taste in music is, if you'd like."

Jackson laughs. "How crap _your_ music taste is, you mean," he says. "How can you not like Oasis?"

"Easily," Aaron says. "You should try it sometime." 

"You're so wrong," Jackson says. "So, so wrong." 

"You are, you mean," Aaron grins at him, and Jackson bumps his elbow companionably against Aaron's. This is the Aaron that Jackson likes best—even though he's wrong about Oasis - and it's just nice to see him at ease with himself, relaxed and _happy_. Jackson drops a kiss to Aaron's shoulder, just as the barman moves over to take Jackson's order.

"Pint of Carlsberg and a bottle of Corona, please, mate," Jackson asks, distractedly. Aaron's grinning, watching him lazily, and Jackson elbows him again, just because. 

Aaron elbows him back. "You're such a fucking loser," he tells Jackson. "Stop messing around."

Jackson's about to reply when he's tapped on the shoulder. When he turns around, it's to find his friend Pete standing there next to them, and there's a set to his mouth that Jackson's not exactly happy to see. The last time he'd seen Pete, Jackson had had a black eye from where Aaron had lamped him, and Jackson's pretty sure that Aaron isn't on Pete's list of favourite people, or likely to be any time soon. Not that he blames Pete for that. 

"Haven't seen you for a while," Pete says, and he might be speaking to Jackson, but he's watching Aaron, a sharp, unfriendly look on his face. Aaron straightens, and Jackson feels him tense up as Pete looks him up and down. 

"You know how it is," Jackson says. "Been busy, working out in Emmerdale on a renovation job." He can feel how wary Aaron is next to him, and he knows from past experience that Aaron's initial and primary reaction to fear has always been to lash out first and think later. He shoots Aaron what he hopes is a reassuring look, but Aaron's face is a grim line. Pete's face is much the same.

"Didn't think I'd be seeing the two of you together again," Pete says. 

Jackson knows that Pete's got his best interests at heart, but that doesn't mean that Jackson appreciates him sticking his nose in. He knows what he's doing with Aaron. "Oh yeah?" he says, evenly. The barman slides Aaron's pint across the bar, and sticks a piece of lime in the neck of Jackson's Corona bottle. Jackson fumbles in his wallet for a note. He hasn't got one, so he's left counting out change. 

"Didn't think this place was your cup of tea," Pete continues, to Aaron. "Thought you didn't want to be seen with the likes of us."

Jackson wants to say, _he's not like that any more_ , but he doesn't. "Pete," he says, handing over a pile of coins to the barman. "I know what I'm doing. Leave it."

Despite that, Aaron's hackles are up. "What business is it of yours?" he asks. He looks, Jackson knows, fierce and angry. Jackson takes his change as fast as he can. 

"Just looking out for Jackson," Pete tells him. As if Jackson didn't know that already. 

"Yeah, well," Aaron says. "He doesn't need you looking out for him. He's fine. He's got me now."

"Aaron," Jackson says, as mildly as he can. He doesn't feel mild. "Let's find a table."

"We never see you any more," Pete says to Jackson, ignoring Aaron. "Dan's having a barbecue next Friday, you should come." The invitation clearly doesn't include Aaron. 

"I'll see if I'm free," Jackson says. He slides one hand into the small of Aaron's back. Aaron's simmering, tense and angry and upset. That said, Aaron's first reaction a few weeks ago would have been his fists, so whilst Aaron's clearly angry now, he's certainly not punching anyone in the face. "We should sit down. I'll see you later, Pete." It's as clear a dismissal as he can manage. 

"Yeah," Pete says, with another look at Aaron. "You know you can give me a call whenever," he goes on, and his brow is furrowed. He's worried, Jackson realises, but that doesn't stop Jackson from feeling annoyed. His relationship with Aaron is nobody's business but his own.

"Yeah," he says, urging Aaron away from the bar with pressure to the small of his back. "Thanks. I'll see you later." He turns to Aaron. "Come on. There's a table up there."

"He looked at me like I was scum," Aaron says, as Jackson pushes him up the steps towards the table in the corner. "I should have rearranged his fucking face."

"Yeah, because that was going to help," Jackson tells him, exasperatedly. He likes Pete, and he doesn't like walking away from him. "I think punching people was how we got into this mess in the first place."

Aaron looks as fierce as Jackson remembers seeing him. "Did you see the way he looked at me? Should have flattened him." Gone is the relaxed, happy Aaron from earlier, and in his place is the tense, angry, defensive Aaron that Jackson hates. 

Jackson shrugs. "He was watching out for me," he says, and takes a long swig of beer. It doesn't taste as good as he'd hoped. 

Aaron doesn't say anything. He stares down at his beer and doesn't look up, and Jackson sighs. He leans back against the wall and toys with the lime in his beer bottle. 

"Your mates look out for you," Jackson says, finally. "Pete's just doing the same."

Aaron doesn't say anything for a minute. "I know," he says, finally. "But they haven't got nothing to be worried about. I'm not going to—" he trails off, and looks back down at his pint. 

Jackson takes another long gulp of his beer. Aaron's more upset than angry, and Jackson knows that. But he doesn't blame Pete for being worried, either. The last time Pete had seen Jackson, he'd had a black eye and had been nursing the beginnings of a broken heart. And if any of Jackson's friends had gone back to a boyfriend that had punched them - even if that guy had been as screwed up as Aaron had been - he would have told them to steer well clear and find someone better, and he would have been pissed off if they'd ignored his advice. 

"I'm not -" Aaron says finally, after they've both nursed their drinks through a minute of silence. "I wish I'd never done that. Hit you. I wish I never had."

"I know," Jackson says, because he knows that. He really does. He just isn't exactly sure that it helps. 

"And I get why that guy was pissed off. He just hasn't got no reason to be, though, because I'm never going to do that again. Not ever." He sounds sincere.

"Give him time," Jackson says. 

"I don't want to," Aaron tells him, in frustration. "I want them to know now. I'm not that guy any more. I'm sick of everyone thinking I'm going to do something stupid all the time. I'm not going to punch nobody, and definitely not you." He drops his gaze. "Definitely not you," he repeats, softer this time.

Jackson lets out a breath. "That's good," he says. He takes another gulp of his beer and slumps down in his seat, low enough that he can bump his knee against Aaron's. 

Aaron hesitantly touches Jackson's leg with his palm.

Jackson doesn't move, watching him carefully. He's holding his breath. 

Aaron waits a moment, and then his touch becomes more confident. He slides his hand over Jackson's knee. "Sorry," he says, after a while. "For flaring up."

Jackson nods. This is how he knows Aaron's changed. He's not the same person he was earlier in the year. 

"I won't. Next time." Aaron looks fierce, and Jackson studies him for a minute, because Aaron's vulnerability is sometimes really well camouflaged. 

"Great," Jackson says, evenly, trying not to focus his attention on Aaron's hand on his leg. His heart is beating loud in his chest. "because next time you meet my friends, threatening to lamp them might not be your best bet."

Aaron rolls his eyes. "I'm not stupid." 

Jackson gives him his best pointed look, and Aaron rolls his eyes. 

"Whatever."

"You didn't hit anyone," Jackson says. "That's progress."

Aaron shakes his head. His hand is a heavy, pleasant weight on Jackson's leg. Aaron watches him for a moment, and then leans in, his gaze flicking to Jackson's mouth. 

Jackson swallows a breath, his mouth suddenly dry. The kiss, when it comes, is sweet and a little tentative. 

When Aaron pulls away, a little breathless, Jackson clears his throat. "Come back to mine," he says. He wants to kiss Aaron all night, he's pretty sure, and he doesn't want to do it in full view of everyone in his local. 

Aaron looks uncertain. "What, now?" He spares his pint a glance. "We've only just got the drinks in."

"We'll pick up some cans on the way," Jackson says. "Come on. We can get pizza later, if you want."

"It's still early," Aaron tells him. "I thought we were having a night out."

Jackson shrugs. "We can, if you want," he says. "Or we can go back to mine. Stick a film on."

Aaron looks suspicious. "Is this just you wanting to show me some film I've never heard of about dogs?"

" _Dog Day Afternoon_. That film's a classic," Jackson tells him. "Where have you been your whole life? Under a rock? Bet you've never seen _The Godfather_ either."

"My dad just had all these stupid Arnold Schwarzenegger videos," Aaron says. "They were crap. And Paddy has all these DVDs where people talk all funny and dress in stupid clothes." He looks disgusted. "No way I'm watching those."

Jackson just laughs, and curls his hand around Aaron's. 

Aaron looks surprised, but he doesn't pull away. It isn't like anyone in the bar can see them holding hands under the table, anyway, Jackson reasons. 

"Come back to mine," Jackson says, again. "Please."

"Yeah," Aaron says, gruffly. "Okay. Yeah." 

~*~

They pick up a couple of four packs of beer from the Spar on the way back to Jackson's place. Aaron gets progressively more monosyllabic as they get further from the bar, and he stuffs his hands deep down inside his pockets, frowning. To anyone else, it probably looks as if going back to Jackson's place is the very last thing he wants to do, but luckily Jackson knows him better, and he ignores Aaron's miserable expression. He opens the Pringles instead, and lets Aaron take the first handful. 

When they get to Jackson's street, Aaron hangs back as Jackson fumbles with his carrier bag and his wallet, trying to fish his door key out of his pocket. Jackson lives in a flat above a hairdressers, and the front door opens on to the parade of shops. It's a pain in the arse, because the kids from the high school around the corner hang out by the newsagent after school is over, and more than once he's come home to find crap graffiti scrawled across his door. Right now it says _Nicola loves Anthony_ , which is definitely a step up from last month, when it said _Harry takes it up the arse_. Jackson's front door has been seven different colours in as many months, which is one of the good things about being a builder and a handyman—there's always bits of old paint lying around. 

"You live here?" Aaron asks, wrinkling his nose. He looks up at the windows. He doesn't look impressed.

"Yep," Jackson says evenly, and turns the key in the lock. There's a couple of envelopes down on the mat, and he bends down to pick them up and flick through. One from the bank and one circular that just says _the occupier_ on the front. He drops that one back down on the mat for later and then nods at Aaron. "Are you coming in or what?"

"Waiting to be invited," Aaron says, sullenly. 

Jackson rolls his eyes. "Remind me to write you an invitation next time."

Aaron huffs, and pushes past Jackson and up the steps. "Come on, then."

Jackson just grins, and follows him up. 

"It's not very big," Aaron says, looking around. 

"Oh," Jackson says. "I'm sorry if you expected the Ritz." He bends down to fit the beer into the fridge, and passes Aaron a can already cold from earlier. Jackson's fridge contains three cans of lager, a block of cheese, a tub of tomatoes, some marge and a bottle of ketchup in the door. He moves the marge over to fit in the new beer. 

"I'd ask you to show me around, but I don't know if we've got time to see it all before tomorrow," Aaron says. 

"Cheeky," Jackson says, standing up. He bumps his elbow against Aaron's. "This is the kitchen." He waves his hand in the general direction of the sofa. "And also the living room. Through there's the bathroom, and here -" he opens the last remaining door, "here's the bedroom."

"Great," Aaron says, giving it all a cursory once-over. "Nice covers."

"Shut up, my mum gave them to me," Jackson says. They're flowery, and probably years old—Jackson remembers them on his mum and dad's bed when he was little. 

"Nice," Aaron says. He kicks the leg of the chair by the door; Jackson uses it to put clothes on, and the pile wobbles a little alarmingly. "Don't you ever put anything away?"

"Sometimes," Jackson says. "We can't all be neat freaks like you."

Aaron rolls his eyes. "Are we going to watch this film, or what?"

"I didn't realise you were so into Al Pacino films," Jackson says, heading over to the TV. There's a stack of DVDs on the floor, and he thumbs through them, looking for _Dog Day Afternoon_. 

"You keep going on about it," Aaron complains, sitting down on the settee and picking up a copy of the _Gay Times_. "You read this?" he flicks through it, doing his best to look disinterested. 

"Sometimes," Jackson says, finding the DVD down the side of his X-Box. "I've read that one, you can take it if you want."

"No thanks," Aaron says, dropping it on the floor. 

"Suit yourself," Jackson says, loading the DVD. He switches the TV on and switches the AV from the Playstation to the DVD player. "I'm just going to throw it away anyway."

Aaron makes a face, but Jackson sees him pick the magazine up again, and put it on the arm of the settee. 

"Right, you ready?" Jackson asks. He makes Aaron budge over so that there's room for them both on the settee, but he doesn't bother waiting for Aaron to answer before pressing play. Aaron complains a lot but he still moves, and not far enough away that they're not touching, either. His knee bumps against Jackson's, and he stares straight ahead, not making eye contact. Jackson bites back a smile. 

They get fifteen minutes into the film when the power goes off, plunging the TV—and the room—into darkness. 

"Shit," Jackson says. "Is it just us, or is it the whole road?"

Aaron stumbles over to the window. "The whole road, it looks like," he says. 

Jackson heaves himself up from the settee, trying to find out where he's put his beer so he doesn't kick it over. "I've got some candles somewhere, hang on."

"Candles?" Aaron asks. He doesn't bother to hide his disdain.

"You'd rather sit here in the dark?" Jackson asks. 

"Yeah, but candles," Aaron says, following Jackson across the room. " _Candles_."

"They were here when I moved in," Jackson explains, kneeling down so he can get into the cupboard underneath the sink. He bumps his head on the cupboard door.

"Ah, right," Aaron says, and Jackson just _knows_ that he's smirking. "You didn't buy any of them yourself, right?"

Jackson rolls his eyes, and tries not to swear as he bumps his head again. 

It is possible, Jackson thinks, once they've got all the candles lit, that Aaron might have a point. At least two of them smell like flowers, and Aaron sneezes when he gets too close to the red one that smells like strawberries. They're all half-melted already, and whoever had lived here before Jackson had left them in a box under the sink. God knows how long they've been there; half of them have a layer of dust to burn off before they can get to the scented part.

"Don't say a word," Jackson says, sitting back on the settee and folding his arms. "Not a word."

"Wasn't going to," Aaron says, sitting down next to him. He's smirking again, Jackson can tell. 

"Stop it," Jackson says, leaning over and poking Aaron in the side. 

" _You_ stop it," Aaron says, pushing Jackson away. He doesn't push very hard, though, because when Jackson leans over and presses a kiss to Aaron's mouth, Aaron's ready and waiting. Jackson shifts closer, and slides his hand down Aaron's side, over his shirt and down to his hip.

Aaron moves tentatively, his kisses sweet and soft—so unlike the fierce mask Aaron wears all the fucking time, Jackson thinks—and it's easy to kiss him over and over, his hand sliding under Aaron's shirt. Aaron's skin is warm beneath Jackson's fingers, and it feels pretty incredible to be able to touch him like this, and not have to worry about anyone or anything else. They break apart so that Jackson can help Aaron off with his top, and Jackson wishes he'd worn a t-shirt, because he's all fingers and thumbs when he tries to get his own buttons undone. 

"Need a hand with that?" Aaron asks, and Jackson swallows down a breath.

"Yes," he says, and Jackson's fairly sure that Aaron hadn't actually expected him to say that. Without the hum of the fridge or the TV, the room is ridiculously quiet, and Aaron can't hide the hitch in his breath as he leans in and fumbles with Jackson's shirt. With just the light of the candles on the table, it takes longer than it should, but Jackson doesn't care. When his shirt falls open, Aaron doesn't move away, not even when Jackson shrugs out of it, dropping it down onto the floor next to them both. 

He can feel Aaron's breath against his skin, and he tries not to tremble as Aaron touches his mouth to Jackson's shoulder. He lets out a ragged breath as Aaron kisses the hollow of his neck, and then his jaw. He's so close Jackson can practically taste him, but they wait, the candle light flickering. Aaron licks his lips. 

"This is why you invited me here tonight, right?" he says. 

"Yeah," Jackson agrees, still looking at Aaron's mouth. "I caused the power cut too. I'm magic."

"Yeah," Aaron agrees, clearly not listening. Jackson slides his hand into the nape of Aaron's neck, and pulls him closer. 

It isn't as if they have had a lot of opportunity to do this, to get this close to each other without worrying about someone seeing them, or walking in. Even though they're alone, and nobody's going to walk in to Jackson's place to disturb them, the hurried, rushed edge to their kisses is still there. He can feel Aaron's dick getting hard against his thigh, and it makes him breathless; he closes the distance between them and kisses him again, over and over until Aaron's as out of breath as Jackson is, and they're pressed up against each other on the settee, awkwardly sprawled across the cushions. 

Jackson reaches for the waistband of Aaron's trousers, fumbling for the button. His hand brushes against Aaron's erection, and Aaron _whines_. Jackson's never heard him make that sound before, so he does it again, but pressing harder this time, the heel of his hand on Aaron's dick. 

"Stop fucking—" Aaron grinds out, his hand curling around Jackson's bicep. "Just, shit. Jackson. "

Jackson covers Aaron's mouth with his own, and he takes the opportunity to shift their position, so Aaron's on top, knees either side of Jackson's thighs. He pushes Aaron's trousers down, and his pants too, his palm in the hollow of Aaron's back as Aaron shifts and kicks off his trousers. He shrugs off his own jeans, and his underwear too, and Aaron repositions himself on top and leans down to press his mouth to Jackson's. 

Jackson doesn't complain, because he has a lap full of Aaron, and it's easy to wrap his fingers around Aaron's dick and taste Aaron's whine against his tongue. The angle's weird and his own erection is pressed up against Aaron's thigh. He can't help but rock up against him, wanting as much friction as he can get, even in this awkward position. Aaron tips his head back, biting back a breath, and Jackson's suddenly aware of how much he wants this, how much he wants _Aaron_.

He twists his fingers, his thumb brushing the head of Aaron's dick, and Aaron cries out. His skin is golden in the candlelight and Jackson takes the opportunity to lean in and press his mouth to the flickering shadows across his skin, because he knows that unless there's another power cut in the near future, they're not going to be able to do this again, not like this. 

"Harder," Aaron tells him, pushing his dick up into Jackson's hand. Jackson does his best not to roll his eyes. 

"I'm busy," Jackson says, and Aaron pushes ineffectually at Jackson's shoulder. 

"Wanker," Aaron manages, and Jackson bites at Aaron's nipple, just because. 

Aaron's back arches, and he goes suddenly taut, crying out as he comes all over Jackson's hand. 

After a moment, Jackson raises an eyebrow. "In a rush?" he asks, wiping his hand on his thigh. 

Aaron bats him away. "Shut up," he says, and he sprawls back across the settee, flushed and breathless. "You were the one who did the thing with the, uh, thing." He waves his hand about, and Jackson chooses to understand that as _that thing where you bit me_.

Jackson smirks, and shifts a little so his head is resting on the arm of the settee. He wipes his hand on his thigh again, and then wraps his hand around his own erection, reminding himself to speak to Aaron later how sometimes it's better if both people get a chance to come. He decides that now is as good a time as any, and kicks at Aaron with one foot. "This should be you up here," he says, twisting his wrist just a little, just the way he likes. "Ever hear the phrase _do unto others..._? 

Aaron wrinkles his nose. "I've just fucking come," he complains. 

"Yes," Jackson says, more patiently than he thinks Aaron deserves right at this particular moment. "And I _haven't_. How about coming up here and giving me a hand?"

"Urgh," Aaron complains, but he sits up. He's relaxed and lazy, but there's a flicker of something in his eyes that Jackson can't miss. Not like Aaron's going to admit that he's never done this before, but he hasn't, and Jackson knows it. Jackson reaches for Aaron's hand, and wraps it around his dick. 

"Just like doing it to yourself," Jackson says, after a moment where nothing happens. 

"I know," Aaron says, making a face. "'m not stupid."

Jackson declines to answer, because Aaron's—finally - stroking his dick, and it feels incredible, even accounting for Aaron's inexperience. 

"...Yeah?" Aaron says, which Jackson knows is the nearest Aaron's going to get to asking if he's doing it right. 

"Yeah," Jackson breathes. He slides his hand down Aaron's thigh, and curves his fingers around Aaron's knee. Aaron gives him a funny look, but he doesn't care, he just wants to touch Aaron, and his knee is nearest, and least likely to get in the way of Aaron giving him a handjob. Which, incidentally, is actually really very good indeed. 

He doesn't expect it at all when Aaron ducks in and kisses him again. He leaves his surprise in Aaron's kiss, and shifts so the position's easier on them both. There's still something so hesitant in Aaron's touch, and his kiss, and Jackson loves it. His hips rock up against Aaron's fist and it feels _so good_. Heat pools in his belly, and he tries to warn Aaron, he really does, but Aaron's kissing him again and Jackson can't find the breath he needs to tell him he's about to come. 

"Gonna -" is as far as he gets, before he comes all over Aaron's fist. 

Aaron's face is a picture. 

Jackson can't help it. Even breathless and still riding the crest of his orgasm, he can't help it, he laughs. 

Aaron wipes his hand on Jackson's leg. "Never going to get used to that," he says, under his breath. 

Jackson wriggles, stretching his legs out. He tugs on Aaron's arm, and shifts so he can rest his head on Aaron's chest, just for a moment. "Pretty sure you will," he says. 

"You think?" Aaron doesn't sound so sure. Jackson had expected him to move away, especially when Jackson had decided to use him as a makeshift pillow, but he stays still. Jackson watches the flicker of the candlelight in the darkness for a while. 

"You think the power is going to come on at some point?" Aaron asks, lazily. 

"Hopefully," Jackson can't manage to inject any particular enthusiasm in to his response. He's too sleepy, and too comfortable, and he secretly likes the flicker of the candle light, if not the overpowering aroma of dusty strawberries and flowers. "There's half a tub of margarine slowly melting over there. It's practically an emergency."

"Don't forget the beer," Aaron reminds him. "Warm lager. Urgh."

"Glad your priorities are in order," Jackson says. "You think we should call the electric company?"

Aaron shrugs. "You that bothered about your marge?" he asks. 

"Not particularly," Jackson says. He turns his face so that he can press a kiss to Aaron's skin. 

"I'm getting pins and needles," Aaron complains, after a minute of neither of them saying anything. 

"Don't want to move," Jackson says, sleepily. 

"Yeah, well," Aaron says. "My arm hurts."

"Spoilsport." He sits up anyway, elbows on his knees. He rubs his eyes. "You want to stay here tonight?"

Next to him, Aaron shrugs. "Could do," he says. 

"Don't sound too enthusiastic," Jackson says. "I might get a complex."

"Dick," Aaron says. "You got stuff for breakfast?"

"A loaf of bread," Jackson says. "Toast. And marge, if the fridge comes back on."

"It'll do," Aaron says, and he nudges Jackson with his foot. "You got a bed in this place, or what?"

Jackson laughs. "What am I going to do with you, huh?"

Aaron shrugs. "Dunno," he says. "You got any jam to go with the toast?"

"If I go to the Spar in the morning," Jackson tells him. 

Aaron makes a face. "You got any tea?"

"I'll pick up some milk, too," Jackson says. "How about that?"

"You'll do," Aaron says, after a moment. 

Jackson bumps his shoulder against Aaron's. "How about I take you to bed first?"

"Okay," Aaron says. "Yeah."

Jackson laughs, and blows the candles out. "Come on, then," he says, reaching for his hand and pulling Aaron closer. He can practically _hear_ Aaron roll his eyes, but he doesn't care, and judging by how Aaron's following him out, Aaron doesn't either.

[end]


End file.
